Getting Used to Drowning
by Shinjite Florana
Summary: "You're injured." Inuyasha rolled his tongue around his bloodied mouth, collecting the gore and causing it to escape in a thin stream down his chin before turning his head to spit the mess into the grass. "Brilliant deduction there, Miroku." Kagome was gone. Not dead, but away. Kagome wasn't dead and this was not proper grieving. Inuyasha wasn't getting better—He was getting worse.
1. Getting Used to Drowning

So Sankonntesu pointed out to the Inuyasha Fanfiction community that here on the FF we are just about to be overtaken in how many fics we have, and in response to her call to up the antes, I'm posting some of the drabbles I've written for my blog on tumblr (I was skeptical about the medium, but it really turning out super fun over there. Made many friends. :3 [ShinjiteFlorana . tumblr . com] if you're interested.)

 **This fic was honestly an elaborate setup for the final chapter, so if you're not feeling it, just skip to there.**

Some of the songs I listened too: Clint Mansell - The Last Man / Young the Giant - Cough Syrup (acustic) / Lifehouse - Storm

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Getting Used to Drowning

In a rare moment of vulnerability, he had once confessed that it was like getting used to drowning.

Miroku was desperate. Because at first he seemed fine. Of course he acted a bit dull, a bit sad, but Kagome had returned to her time, so of course he would be depressed. Of course he would have to go through that process of loss, of pain and then acceptance. In reality, it almost upset him how normal he was able to act about it. In the first few days it seemed like he and Sango were more upset by Kagome's absence than him.

His appetite was the same, attitude just as gruff and sandpapery. If they brought it up at all he was quick to tell them to " _quit yer yapping,"_ and _"she's safe, what else does it matter?"_ Shippo seemed the most upset by it. Miroku and Sango knew well enough that this was his defense mechanism, that really he must be feeling her loss from their lives more acutely than any and all of them combined. But Shippo was only able to see the surface, to see a scoff and a fidget and a _feh_. More than anything else, that seemed to be what drove him away, to the fox demon temple to train. Too many fights with the half demon, obstinate in his refusal to play elder brother or father to the mourning child, had ended in tears, hot and angry. Too many moments the feuding two held their breath, willing the impossible voice to shout _sit_ , to break up the fight and the sadness, thinker and heavier than a storm front.

But there was no voice.

So Shippo left.

By this point, Miroku had been relieved. They were making no progress with the two together, picking at each other's scars. Shippo would heal—regain his unshakable optimism in Kagome—with distance.

Inuyasha too, would heal. He would mourn and brood and sigh and move on. He would get better, with time.

Except he hadn't gotten better.

He had gotten worse.

The first year was the hardest. Scratch that, the first month. Except then the next month was worse. Then the next. _Then the next._

He started sleeping a lot. Or pretending too, at least—an excuse not to talk to anyone, to force them into silence, force himself into solitude. When that didn't work, when Miroku and his now wife were worried enough that they would speak to him even as he lay, arms crossed behind his head, eye closed, breathing soft and steady—when Miroku would poke him with a big toe and tell him _up and at em'_ — _time for food, no thanks to you_ — _haven't you slept enough?_ He thought that might help, when at first Inuyasha would open his eyes, right himself, dutifully and gruffly take his bowl of rice, unhappy snarl on his face.

But then he wouldn't touch it. He would stare. At the dish or out the window or through the door, curtain swept away to reveal the good weather. And that was very worrying. Because Inuyasha loved to eat, he loved food, and if this was simply a pouty depression, he should have shown this symptom of lost appetite when Kagome first left. But it had been weeks now. And he was eating less and less each day, 'sleeping' more and more, when they would let him. It left him sluggish, dazed, stemmed the flow of what little he had to say or complain about before. He remained silent many times they spoke to him, registering them with soulful eyes or, more worrisome, ignoring them completely, in a way that didn't seem purposeful. In a way that had Miroku repeating himself, pulling genuine head turns and _"huh? What_?"s from the half demon.

And this was worrisome because _Inuyasha heard everything_. Even when distracted, when in pain or sad or cranky or thoughtful, he still heard _everything_ with those ears of his.

He suspected by the end of it he wasn't really sleeping. Whereas before he was sure in his lethargy, anything to pass the time, the endless hours, would be welcome. He embraced sleep when it did come, desperate—desperate for its release, its unconscious embrace, its dreams—she was still there in the dreams, he was sure. Still nagging and laughing and angry and smiling and forgetful and strong and everything she was to him. So he slept. But for this same reason, for the dreams and for her, he stopped sleeping. He started avoiding it, faking it, laying there, eyes closed, breath steady, faking sleep but being oh so careful to never fall into it, not when it was so impossibly close.

The dreams were release but waking from them was torture. Miroku had seen it, him waking from genuine sleep, the jerk, disorientation, her name on his lips but never spoken. The dream her was like sunlight and the warmth it produced small, brief, and only left him colder from its sudden and inevitable absence. Slipping through his fingers, over his face and down his arms, soaked up by the earth a million miles deep and oceans of time apart. Perhaps it wasn't sunlight. Perhaps it was moonlight. A cold, dim imitation of the reality.

So Inuyasha didn't sleep, and his eyes darkened and he spoke less and ate less, and when Miroku and Sango started bugging him, trying to be as tentatively supportive in this intensely personal loss, he started leaving.

Miroku felt intensely responsible. Because yes, he was saddened by Kagome's absence, yes Shippo had been driven off and there was so much to mourn, but Miroku had Sango. Miroku finally had her, free, guiltless, completely. He had love and life and as much as he tried to keep a level and attentive head for his friend not privileged with this same gift, he was lightheaded, head over heels for his wife, so many thing his head shouldn't be, distracted, when attending to his depressed friend. He was ready to suffocate in Sango. His curse was free and she had a family again and seeing them get their happy ending was too much. Seeing them together, all smiles and laughs and gentle touches, were nails in his wrists and legs and head.

Miroku tried to be sensitive about it, dim his affection in front of his friend, but they were married. The nights, in which Inuyasha left to adopt a tree for the night or borrow a space near Kaede's fire, were not enough. They shared a hut Inuyasha himself helped them build. He fained sleep near their hearth, dined with them—and Miroku was so much more in love with his wife, his scale instead of staying perfectly balanced, spilled over to her side so many times and a kiss and a whisper and a caress were knives only seen as thrown after their contact—after looking up from his love to Inuyasha. Inuyasha with one knee bent to his chest, arm draped lazily over it and head dipped to press lips pulled thin and tight, bitten in restraint, eyes purposefully averted, blood from the sharp pierce of his fangs only visible in a brief instance as he stood and existed in a single swift movement.

Sango's pregnancy is what pushed him over the edge, he suspected. He had left for a few days. It was longer than normal, but not an uncommon occurrence. It had been nearly a month since Kagome left. Inuyasha entered unannounced and Sango stood in elation, happy at her friend's return. She had set aside whatever task occupied her time and strode over to him to give him a long meaningful hug and when she pulled away, Inuyasha looked confused. Miroku had watched as he quirked his head, and leaned further into the space between them to give Sango a sniff. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Are you pregnant?"

And that was it. Confusion and tears and happy laughter. Inuyasha crooked a smile and in that moment looked like his old self again, like when he was _complete_ , with _her_ at his side. Miroku let himself believe for a moment that this was it, that he would get better. But one more half hug to Sango, an affectionate cuff to the back of Miroku's head, and he was gone, before Miroku in his joy could even register it.

He didn't come back.

Not to their hut

Not to Kaede's.

Not to aid Miroku in fighting the petty demons that plagued the neighboring villages as he usually did.

He was gone and Miroku was desperate, racked with guilt and his pregnant wife was beside herself trying to console him. But he couldn't do this, not when he had family to prepare for, not when the one he was receiving counsel from was going through her own trial.

Because Miroku had seen Inuyasha grieve death and loss before. He had seen it with Kikyo and he had seen it when he slaughtered the bandits and he knew that he had moved on from the death of his mother, enough to live on as he had. He knew _how_ Inuyasha grieved and grew and moved on and got better.

Kagome was gone. Not dead, but away. Left in a strange gap filled with so many unanswered questions. Kagome wasn't dead and this was not proper grieving. Inuyasha wasn't getting better. He was getting worse.

And now he was gone.

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Please don't Forget to reveiw! :D


	2. Fate

This chapter feels boring to me. You have my permission to skip. If you do read, know I love you forever. ^-^ Again, if you'd like you can see more of my nerdyness at (ShinjiteFlorana . tumblr . com)! :D

Some more songs I listened too were: Youth - Daughter / Not About Angels - Birdy / Flare - Horizon / My Love - Sia

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Fate

The girl that Inuyasha loved had black hair, brown eyes, stood roughly five-foot-two, was just under a hundred and ten pounds, and completely beyond his reach. This girl, who's worst subject was math, had a freckle on the heel of her left foot, was brave beyond reason, loved to a fault, and got cranky when she was tired was separated from him by half a millennia. Kagome Higurashi, whose name was carved under his tongue and on the back of his eyelids, under each fingernail and embedded in the suffocating cavity of his chest, was one-hundred and eight-two thousand, six-hundred and twenty-one sunsets and sunrises away from him—and Inuyasha was powerless to do anything against the undefeatable foe: time.

And Inuyasha didn't know why.

The Bone-Eater's well had taken him back with his name on her lips, hand reaching, and then ceased working. After all the hours, days, and months Inuyasha had spent with her, countless and precious times of strife and rest and peace and pain and _fate_. After the steel cables of fate, tying Kagome to this era were cut the day the Sacred Jewel was purified, fate separated them.

And so Inuyasha cursed fate.

Because fate was cruel, and fate was inevitable and untouchable, and the same fate that took Kagome away from him had presented her to him, beyond all odds, overcoming time and space and _fate_.

Bless the fate that brought her to him.

The first thing Inuyasha did when he left—left with true finality in his steps—was walk. He walked to the forest of his namesake and then to the well and then he kept walking. He walked with the only destination in his mind being "away." He walked through days and nights and forest and field. He skirted villages and roads, but one-mindedly, he walked, sleepless, until he stood with sand beneath his feet, salt water lapping at his ankles and there was no more to walk. Nothing left before him but a huge endless expanse of blue, as uncrossable as the five-hundred years between him and the black haired brown eyed girl that had at some indefinable point become his place in life, his home.

So inuyasha sat and inuyasha slept and after some heartfelt complaints from his stomach, he hunted and he ate and he was disgusted that time could pass as mundanely without her, as if unhurried to meet, not panicked that this separation might be forever. Inuyasha was sickened that time passed so normally even when it should be impossible, even when each breath dragging from his lungs ached like the pulse of blood behind a bruise, passing in lurches and lulls and forever murmuring that he should be _home_. Not sitting on a beach or in a village or under a roof or with his friends, but home. The home that every fiber of his being dragged him too, to comfort and relief and to her.

Home, half a millennia away, sitting in her kitchen in the same blue pajama's she always wore drinking tea and probably not thinking about him at all.

Or maybe she was. Maybe she was sitting on the steps in front of the well, skirt wrung damp and stretched in her hands. Gulping in uneven breaths to hold back the tears she feared would fill the room if allowed to fall, to drown her if she didn't take one more breath, in and out one more time. And _fate_.

He didn't know which was worse.

And he didn't know why.

He didn't know why the well stopped working and he didn't know why he came back alone and he didn't know if he could fix it, if he _should_ fix it because **_fate_**. She was safe. She was safe and he wasn't the only one that loved her. Where Kagome was she had people that she cared about, that she loved, and that needed her as much as she needed them. Maybe even as much as he needed her.

But fate.

Cruel fantastic blessed inevitable fate had brought Kagome here for a purpose. For a role and a goal and a foe to defeat, and the Jewel was gone. That's what Kaede had said. That what brought Kagome from the future, what held the foreigner in this time was her fate, bound up in the jewel—not to renew the endless cycle of corruption, but to end it in Kikyo's stead.

But Inuyasha didn't believe that. The words like red thread binding them together—that Kagome was born to meet him, and he was born for her.

But if that were true, then why was she gone? What justified this denial of fate, like some cosmic joke that what he was made for, born for, was unattainable? Was this forever? Merely a trial? A trial of days? Weeks? Months? Years? Eternity? Was this separation, permanent or otherwise, part of fate? Or was it broken, ruined by some action on their part—on _his_ part? Had he really compromised the place his soul was molded for?

And Inuyasha's mind batted back and forth, churning thoughts in his head even as he floated in the water he couldn't walk on, drifting in blue the same color as the cloudless sky he stared at. The sensation was familiar, but then it had been black, not blue in the jewel. And then he had had Kagome, in the end.

The sensation never ended from that moment, floating in the void, the feeling of weightlessness. Each breath was heavy, heaved through inadequate lungs. Here, now, months later, floating in the alkaline ocean, the external and internal finally aliened. Here, each breath could be a gasp. Here he could almost feel the ice cold chains on his ankles, struggle to move the water through his lungs. On his back, with his head above water and looking at the bright blue sky, Inuyasha was drowning. The sensation was familiar by now, but how could anyone get used to drowning?

If he could fix this, he didn't know how. And if this was fate,

Then to Hell with fate.

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Please don't forget to review!


	3. Distraction

Now THIS has some action in it! At least, I think you'll enjoy at least a little. You're almost to the end! That's the only REAL chapter that matters (to me, anyway) Again, if you'd like i'm at (ShinjiteFlorana . tumblr . com)!

More songs! Some repeated (i really just listen to all the ones i've listed on loop): Panic! At the Disco - This is Gospel (acoustic) / Youth - Daughter / Young the Giant - Cough Syrup

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Distraction

If the ties Kagome had to the jewel were steel cables, the connection between Inuyasha and her could have been the thinnest of threads, and he'd still follow her to hell and back—he'd done it once already.

He had the illusion that distance would clear his head, help ease whatever this was that kept peeling back the gaping hole she had left in him, but he was a fool. They couldn't be farther apart than they were now, and no amount of miles across all of Japan would be enough to keep him from returning to the well. And return he did, inevitably, irrationally, unconsciously, and cursed himself the moment he arrived.

The sun was high in the sky, birds twittering anthems to the heavens and the air in the Bone-Eater's well was cold and damp and the earth inside smelled of dirt and bones and death. Inuyasha had fallen to a heap beside the rim, forehead pressed against the dry and splintering wood, willing time away because this wasn't getting easier, it was getting worse.

That's when the demon attacked.

Miroku didn't know Inuyasha was back. All he knew was that the small swell of Sango's belly was so much more apparent in her slayer outfit . He only remembered begging her to say in their home—to stay safe—and the way her grip tightened around the leather binding of Hiraikotsu.

"Fifteen minutes."Had been her curt reply, "If it's not dead, I'm coming out." But it had been all he needed.

Miroku didn't have his wind tunnel. He didn't have the strength of his wife to rely on or Kirara and the mobility she provided or anyone but himself and the small slips of paper in his robe, pressing against his frantically beating heart.

The demon—no, this was an ogre, huge and menacing with skin the color of dried blood—was a mess of mane and teeth and tusks, easily clearing the tallest tree in InuYasha forest. It was surprisingly fast, and even though Miroku skirted around the monster, aiming his attack to try and draw the beast off, the destructive creature seemed to want nothing more then to crush each house, stable and chicken coup in the village.

Starting with the hut on the outskirts of the settlement, high on the small hill that crested before the main village lay out in the valley. The house that the three of them had built back when things were still somewhat normal. Back when Kagome could still show up any day and Inuyasha wasn't trying to not-so-subtitly escape from the world and Shippo was comfortable in the arms of one of his adopted family and not forced out so soon after the conflict that had been plaguing the rag-tag group was over. The Ogre took another tremorus step toward the house and Miroku knew he couldn't let this happen.

Kaede had organized the village men, and those that could fire a bow had shot anchoring blows to the broad side of the monster. Its hide was hard enough that some of the arrows glanced off, but others didn't and after a command, the men heaved on the ropes attached to the arrows, physically forcing the gargantuan beast to the ground, shaking the earth with its thud. The moment was now.

Miroku ran forward, flourishing three sutras in his hand, concentrating his spiritual powers into the scrolls before laying them between the eyes of the felled beast. The ogre reared in pain, back to its feet and mindlessly stumbling, close—too close. The shack next to his hut on the hill was smashed and Miroku could see her in the doorway, eyes full of fire, Hiraikotsu poised ready at her side while her free hand clenched tightly over her abdomen.

It was in that moment—when Sango and the monster's eyes locked, when Miroku was calling soundlessly for her to run, to not fight, because god what if he lost them both?—It was then that he descended, like some Deva of destruction, eyes hollow in a blank face and wielding a sword much to large to be anything but a weapon to kill demons.

He aimed for its head and missed.

Missed, yes, but the surprise was enough to startle the ogre into taking two tremendous steps back. Inuyasha took the time it bought him to match eyes with Sango, still in the doorway, in a wordless command.

Then he turned back to his enemy. The blow meant to split its head had instead grazed the beast's forehead. Its eye squinted past the blood that dripped into it before giving a defining roar, hand swinging wildly at its small foe.

Inuyasha jumped out of the way, and was on the monster before it could retrieve its hand from the crater it created in Miroku's front yard. He stabbed the creature clean through the shoulder of the arm it was too slow to retrieve, face still stern and eyes hard in the deep sockets they now sat in. Hanging from the grip of the sword, he braced his feet below the wound he opened on the ogre's chest, readying to kick off and away from the creature—but he underestimated the giant's speed.

The beast had two arms, and where he'd done a fantastic job of incapacitating one of them, the hand of the other came up behind him, flattening him to its stone chest like a bug and knocking the wind out of him.

For the first time since the fight began, Miroku watched Inuyasha's expression change. Shock, surprise—and then, when the great hand pulled back, catching him by the left arm to drag him and the sword away in one swift motion—pain, teeth clenched in a grimace and eyes angry. The sight was almost a relief.

It would have been relief entirely if the ogre didn't now have him by the arm and was swinging him endlessly above his head like a lariat. The monster was fast, and Inuyasha seemed powerless to fight the centrifuge, barley able to keep his grip on Tessaiga with his free arm.

Miroku caught movement at the edge of his line of site. The moment his head pivoted to the apex of the small hill the battle sat atop, he knew who the figure would be, here at the perfect vantage point.

Sango's expression was fierce, arms thrown back, prepared to launch Hiraikotsu at the demon. The monster, intent on tossing around his new half-demon ragdoll, stumbled closer. And closer. What was she waiting for?

Miroku dashed forward, slipping once on the incline before scrambling back up with bloodied knees to tackle his wife from the giant's path of destruction. As he did the slayer let her weapon fly.

They ended up in a tumble down the hill. Before they even came to a complete stop, Sango was on her knees.

"It was too fast-I didn't want to hit Inuyasha." She didn't have enough breath for more.

At first Miroku thought his wife had missed entirely before the giant boomerang came barreling back, managing to hit the ogre's arm. It was at the wrong angle—a glancing blow, not cutting—but it was enough. The blow slowed the spin and allowed Inuyasha to wrench his arm forward, far enough now from the people and houses to let loose an earth-shattering Wind Scar.

The golden blades cut through the beast like butter, ending its life. But Inuyasha had severed the monsters arm while still being tossed through the air. Freed from its anchor, Inuyasha effectively created a sling for himself, and his bruised body was flung deep into the nearby forest of his namesake.

Miroku turned to his wife.

"I'm fine. Go to Inuyasha." Sango lowered herself to the ground, chest heaving in the aftermath of the battle. She ran dirt covered hands through equally dirty hair, loose from its ponytail after their tumble down the hill before looking up. She surveyed the destruction of their yard and shed in thin lipped appraisal.

"Sango, are you truly-"

"I'm fine." Sango caught his outstretched hand before it could reach her. The action was more aggressive then she intended. She amended the act by carefully curling her hand around his, gentle now, reassuring.

"I really am. Both of us are."

Miroku smirked at that and the way her free hand pressed against her abdomen.

"You need to find him. Now. Before he leaves again."

It was Miroku's turn to press his lips together in a thin line.

"We should talk to him together."

"No." Sango was quick to refuse this, a violent spark in her eyes at his words. "No, I can't," She elaborated, head ducking as she talked. "I wouldn't be…I'm too angry to talk with him now, the way he is." She looked back up to match his eyes, desperate to try and communicate the conflict she was feeling.

"He's just acting so…spoiled. Kagome is alive and safe! What I wouldn't give for-" Sango stopped herself. She took a deep breath before continuing. "I know, I'm not being fair. But I can't talk to him right now. You have to."

Miroku tightened his grip around her hand. She responded with a tight squeeze of her own before releasing.

"Go." She finally commanded. And so he did.

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In the words of a friend, "Sango is a real Sistah. 'No I don't want to talk to that dramatic brat.'

Please Review!


	4. End

Aaayyyy, It's the end! You made it, hooray! So the Miroku-Inuyasha confrontation in this chapter is the _whole reason_ I wrote all the other chapter to begin with. I personally really like it. I may add more, but for now it's done, don't hold your breath or YOU'll be the one having to ' _get used to drowning_ '! *rimshot* *shot dead* Again, we can connect on my blog as well at (ShinjiteFlorana . tumblr . com)

Anywho, quick warning Inuyasha's potty mouth shows up in this one. Songs I wanna share have all been stated before except for Imagine Dragons - My Fault, for the lyrics mostly.

Enjoy!

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End

It was impressive, really, how deep Inuyasha had managed to get himself flung into the forest.

He wasn't hard to track.

Smashed trees, broken branches and a straight trail of freshly fallen leaves were easy enough to follow. Miroku could even take a leaf out of Inuyasha's book and follow his nose with the wick smell of fresh greenwood left in the destruction's wake.

Even more impressive than the distance was the location. Miroku finally found him, pushing aside a final bush to enter the small glen. Inuyasha had seemingly just disentangled himself from the thicket he had come to rest in. He swayed on his feet as he stood, dragging Tessiga behind him as he took steadying steps into the clearing.

He didn't look good.

If he knew Miroku was there he didn't show it. Instead his eyes glanced around the glen, resting on the massive tree in the center. Golden orbs trailed up the immense roots, thick trunk and to the countless boughs above before falling back down to stare and the large oval shaped scar that marred the camphor's front.

Miroku couldn't see his face, but Inuyashs gave the lowest, deepest, hollowest laugh he had ever heard, the sound of which was enough to make him want to throw his hands against his ears to stop the sound.

When Inuyasha did swivel to face him, still threatening to fall at any moment, he addressed Miroku with soulless eyes.

He really didn't look good.

Blood riveted from his nose and over his lip to stain his mouth red as cherries. He reached over his right arm, sword still in hand, to press against the upper arm of the other. The fingers of the hand peeking out from the sleeve of his limp left arm looked pale, stark against the brilliant red that methodically curled around the slim digits to catch on sharp claw tips before dripping to the thirsty forest floor below.

"You're injured."

Inuyasha rolled his tongue around his bloodied mouth, collecting the gore and causing it to begin escaping in a thin stream down his chin before turning his head to spit the mess into the grass.

"Brilliant deduction there, Miroku." Inuyasha said thickly, mouth still coated in savage red. He turned dazedly, seeming disoriented a moment. "I was being stupid…let the thing catch me by the arm…bastard pulled the damn thing out."

"Not the only thing you've been foolish about lately."

Miroku's eyes remained stern, unfazed even as Tessaiga suddenly flew past him to embed itself in a tree behind him, hissing as it returned to its rusted avatar, falling lower in the now loose notch it sat in.

"You should come back." Miroku said after a moment.

"Oh, so we can play house some more? Do I get to be the family pet?" Inuyasha was smiling in a way that didn't reach his eyes. The gold and onyx twins remained sharp, framed by large dark half-moons the color of an old bruise below them, pupils snapping into focus at his words and staring Miroku down with livid attention. When the monk didn't flinch he turned with a huff, trudging toward the Sacred Tree, left arm swingy uselessly by his side as his right hand gripped the shoulder like a vice.

"I know this isn't easy for you, but you shouldn't separate yourself so much. It's not good for you. She wouldn't want you to, either."

Inuyasha continued to limp toward the base of the tree as Miroku spoke, falling against its trunk to stay upright.

"Thanks for the wisdom, Monk. I've seen the fucking light." Inuyasha heaved before turning himself to brace his dislocated left arm against the tree. He hissed in pain as he fell hard against his shoulder.

"I know how you feel, Inuyasha."

The half demon took an unsteady step away from the tree before throwing himself against the trunk, ramming his shoulder against the tree with a gruff yelp of pain. The tree visibly shook.

"You don't have to go through this alone."

Obviously unsuccessful in his first attempt, arm still hanging uselessly by his side, Inuyasha staggered back for another go at knocking his dislocated shoulder back into place.

" _Do_ you now?" He managed through grit teeth before throwing himself at the tree a second time. High above in the dappled canopy, the leaves swayed at the impact. There was an audible pop followed by guttural shout. Inuyasha heaved unsteady breaths before the pain subsided enough for him to continue to speak.

"Sorry if I don't believe you up front, Miroku. Let me just go throw Sango down a well and then I'll get back to you." He rolled his now connected shoulder with no small amount of pain—but at least he was back in control of the appendage.

Miroku's fist clenched at his side.

"Kagome's not dead, Inuyasha, and this isn't grieving." He said, desperately grasping at sheds of his self control while his vision tunneled. "I almost wish she was, then at least there'd be some finality to it. Maybe you'd be able to move on from it _then_ -"

Abruptly Miroku wasn't standing but hanging. Tight fistfuls of his robes were caught in either of Inuyasha's claws before he was slammed against a tree, the breath knocked from his chest.

Inuyasha wasn't speaking, but his growl was thunderous in Miroku's ears, inches from his face. The half demon bared still bloodied fangs at the monk, close enough for the coppery smell of red to stain his senses.

The pain of being shoved cleared his head, and if nothing else, his motive for self preservation came flooding back.

Miroku gave a dry swallow before continuing.

"I'm sorry. That was out of line."

Inuyasha's grip only tightened. The monstrous face snarling at him didn't seem human, didn't seem like Inuyasha at all. Miroku suddenly remembered that Tessaiga wasn't sheathed safely at the half demons side but embedded in the tree to the left of him. He took a very deep breath before matching eyes with the near feral Inuyasha.

" _I'm sorry_ , Inuyasha." He spoke each word carefully. He ventured lifting a hand up to gently grip the wrist of one of the fists forcing tree bark to scrape skin from his back even through his thick robes. Inuyasha's growl softened, along with his grip, and Miroku slid the few inches needed to land back on solid ground.

Inuyasha's head was ducked, face covered by shadows. Abruptly, he shoved away from Miroku, stumbling over to the tree beside them. Pulling the untransformed katana from the fresh notch in the wood, he deftly sheathed the weapon. There was a moment when neither of them spoke, allowing the pulse of the moment to steady from its fanatic pace. Inuyash reached a sleeve up to roughly wipe across his mouth and nose, undoubtedly smearing the blood there from cheek to jaw.

Still refusing to face Miroku, the half demon turned and began walking.

"Where are you going?"

"Away." He replied in a voice like sandpaper.

"So you're running again?"

Inuyasha stopped.

"You're running away? Thought I'd never see the day."

Inuyasha turned on him then, eyes wild and seething.

"What do you know? What do you know about _any_ of this?" he flung out an arm in an encompassing gesture, as if presenting the problem to him. "You've _got_ your ' _happy ending_.' Despite what you think, we aren't some little family unit. Nothings' keeping me from going wherever the hell I want—doing whatever the _hell_ I want. What's it to you anyway, Miroku?"

"This is quite a relapse. She hasn't even been gone for all that long." Miroku tried to causally adjust his sleeve as he continued speaking. "She's not dead. From what you tell me the portal at the Bone Eater's well connecting her world to here just stopped functioning. How do you know it won't just start working again?"

"I _don't_ , Miroku, that's the _point_." Inuyasha's voice was shaking with the words, high and frantic. "I don't know _why_ it stopped working or if it'll _start_ working again, _when_ that will happen or if there's something I can _do_ about it…" Inuyasha had been staring at Miroku with wide eyes as he ranted, looking more through him than at him. The Monk retuned the gaze with a solemn face.

He _definitely_ did _not_ look good.

The blood that had been dripping from his nose, staining his mouth to then trail off his chin, had been smeared off to one side of his face by the sleeve earlier. His features held a wide-eyed desperation that seemed so wrong on the normally stubborn youth's face. The look was only enhanced by the dull, bruise like shadows that had begun encircling their sockets. His pupils were blown wide in the diminishing sunlight of the evening, trailing through the canopy to speckle the forest below.

Annoyed, angry, gleeful—even if it was normally at another's misfortune—were expressions common to the half demon's face. Searching? Lost? It was wrong. It felt wrong.

Realizing the vulnerability he was showing, Inuyasha broke the eye contact, taking two frustrated steps away. While he moved he ran clawed fingers vigorously through his bangs to fist in his hair at the top of his head just in front of his twitching ears. His eyes bounced around the glade in search of another focal point, anything besides the cool assessment of his companion's eyes.

His golden gaze stilled when it reached the Sacred Tree, fixated on the scar encompassing its front.

"…Is it my fault?"

The words were so soft that at first Miroku didn't believe they were from the boy in front of him.

"What?"

"What if it's my fault?" Inuaysha's hands fell from his head before pivoting to face Miroku once again. "Did I do something that fucked this whole thing up? Naraku is dead. The Jewel is gone. We did it, right?"

Miroku blinked, unsure if he really wanted an answer. He continued without one.

"Is that the reason it stopped? _Because_ it's all over?" Inuyasha shook his head, frustrated with his own line of thought. "No, that can't be it. The well didn't open up for the jewel or for anything—any _one_ but Kagome. Did it stop because Kagome wanted it too? Why would she do that? I thought—"

Inuyasha stopped and in his eyes Miroku saw Nirvana.

"I'm doing it again. All over again." His voice was level now, face stern. He walked over to the tree nearest him and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He fell against the trunk before sliding down to sit at its base. After a moment Miroku came to join him.

"Doing what again?" he asked as he situated himself next to his friend. Inuyasha gave a hollow scoff that might have been the distant relative of a laugh.

"The one thing Kagome never did to me."

"And that is?"

"Doubted me."Inuyasha's hands fell from his eyes. He looked so tired. "That's what saved us, in the end, in the Jewel. With all the tricks it tried to play, Kagome believed in me. It's what saved us."

Miroku let the silence between them hang a moment as he very carefully picked his next words.

"Naraku's gone, Inuyasha. This isn't some trick like…like it was last time."

"I know." Was his simple reply. He pulled one leg up to rest his arm on, head falling back to press against the tree trunk behind him.

The conversation quieted a moment and Miroku waited patiently beside the boy as he sorted through the mess of thoughts in his head with this new revelation of his now in play. The monk adjusted the prayer beads wrapped around his right hand. The beads themselves were pointless now, other than their intended use in meditation, but he was finding the habit of wearing them hard to break. Glancing over, he saw his companion messing with his own beads, lifting the magenta necklace to an open mouth, playing with it the same way a bored child would. Miroku smirked at the seeming unconscious habit.

A moment later, the necklace dropped from his hands. Inuyasha's eyes were wide and attentive now, speaking enlightenment. Miroku could almost hear a bell go off. Instead all he got was Inuyasha leaning forward a bit to slam his head back into the tree with enough force for Miroku to feel the bark tremor against his back.

"Fuck."

"Indeed." Miroku confirmed.

"I've been a fucking idiot."

"Well it hasn't been the first time."

" _Hey_."

"Nor will it be the last."

"HEY!"

Miroku stood with the pleasantest of smiles on his face, ignoring the wrath behind Inuyasha's voice completely.

"Now all you have to do is wait for Kagome, be patient and trust in her! Good talk, Inuyasha." Miroku slapped a hand onto the half demon's shoulder as he joined him on his feet. "She said she still wanted to be with you even after you've done much worse things before, anyway."

Inuyasha shrugged the hand off his shoulder with a sneer.

"Yeah, well being patient ain't really one of my strong suits."

"Practice makes perfect!" Miroku quoted helpfully as he began walking out of the glade.

Inuyasha began grudgingly following him before stopping.

"Wait a minute, when did you hear Kagome say she wanted to stay with me? T-there was just the two of us then!" Inuyasha sputtered.

Miroku ignored him completely.

"You don't need to worry about apologizing for your actions lately, either. I already forgive you."

"Miroku!"

The Monk paused a moment, finger poised thoughtfully against his chin.

"Sango, on the other hand, might need some convincing.

"Stop ignoring me!"

Miroku slammed a fist into his open palm.

"I've got it!" the Buddhist turned to Inuyasha while placing a hand on the tree beside him. "Don't know if you noticed since you were having fun spinning around with that ogre, but the thing managed to make quite the mess of our front yard and it seems we'll be needing a new shed. Why don't you take a few logs back with you as a peace offering?" he patted the tree beside him.

" _Having fun_?" Inuyasha's brow twitched before getting his mind back on track. "And don't give me that, I know by now when you're suckering me into free labor."

Miroku shrugged.

"Suit yourself. It's not my grave I'll be digging when we get back."

"Gah, damn it, _fine_!" Inuyasha drew his sword. "I'll bring back the whole damn _forest_ if you want."

"Inuyasha, wait-"

"WIND SCAR!"

After a bit more yelling then necessary and a bit more roughhousing than was really needed, the two trudged up the hill, the sun setting at their back. Sango dusted her hands off, having just finished sorting the last of the rubble mess in their front yard into salvageable and unsalvageable. Upon hearing the two approach she squared hands on her hips, prepared to round on her husband and half demon with a scowl for the more stubborn of the two. As they came into view, though, Sango could only smile at the bruised and bickering face of the white-haired yellow-eyed boy, arms full hauling two impossibly big and impossibly cumbersome logs up the hill.

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Yay, ALLLLLL done! (for now) I've got a few tie-ins in mind, but eh. Please PLEASE review! I'd love to hear from you!


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